


no better hope

by 75hearts



Series: we but teach bloody instructions [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (of elrond and elros though so like), Gen, Kidnapping, Murder, Suicidal Thoughts, Third Kinslaying aftermath, however fucked up you expect maedhros to be? multiply that by ten, i have no idea how to tag it but like. i am not kidding about that, no seriously i'm not kidding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 05:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17401214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/75hearts/pseuds/75hearts
Summary: Maglor and Maedhros have different opinions on what to do with Elrond and Elros. As it turns out, they have different opinions about rather a lot of things, actually.





	no better hope

**Author's Note:**

> this is not healthy. none of this is healthy. these boys are terrible & i am sorry.

“You wished to see me.”

“Yes, I did. Come in.” Maedhros looked down at his brother, expression mild. “We need to determine what we are to do with the twins. Making sure that they have been having enough food and drink and so on was I think the correct decision given the situation, but it is no long-term solution; we will not be camping in Sirion forever while they grow up.”

Maglor spoke, then: “I wish to take them hostage.”

“Hostage? They have no strategic value. Their mother is dead, the silmaril is gone into the depths of the sea. The only person they could be valuable to is Eärendil, and he has nothing we want. The time where ships were more valuable than gold is long past. We have already agreed to keep them fed; keeping them for longer than is needed for their survival will eat into resources that are already scarce, for no reward as I can see it. No, I will not let you do this thing, at least not so long as you are lying to me about your reasons.”

“Surely you of all people understand my reasons! I still remember your voice crying out the twin names of Eluréd and Elurín, as though that alone might bring them back. You know what it is, to show mercy for the children, and now you would ban me from that--”

“You dare talk to me of mercy!” Maedhros’s face was grim and unsmiling, but his voice was rising in a mockery of laughter. “Maglor Feanorion, kinslayer thrice over--O great merciful one! Truly it should have been merciful of you if you had not driven their mother off a cliff. But this--no wonder you have always sung of my rescue as though it was _mercy_ when Fingon cut off my hand.”

“You do not think it was so?”

“Of course it was not. I begged him to die, twice. Is it mercy to be refused that which you beg for? No, brother, it would have been mercy if he had shot me then and there. But he did not; and so I lived. It has not made anyone happy, and it has _saved_ me only in the sense that I am alive to torment and be tormented further.” He was not attempting to hide his bitterness. “I know he thought it was mercy when he did it. Or perhaps he didn’t, perhaps he brought me back only for my skill as a diplomat. Because he would rather have me king than you. Well, if that were the case, I might forgive him. But I do not think it is. I think he cut me down because he loved me, believing it was mercy. And now you are doing the same. Rescue is not a mercy when it is forced upon the unwilling.”

Maglor shook his head. “I cannot believe that. It was a valiant deed, and a kind one. He was willing to kill you, if there was no other way--but Manwë himself heard him and took pity. The King of the Valar would not lend his aid to an evil. Fingon had the power to harm you, to get revenge for the ships and the crossing of the ice; and instead he chose compassion, to save you, to nurse you back to health. If that is not mercy, what is?”

“If that is what mercy is, I spit on it. I did not wish to be saved! Yet I was, and so countless people have died, including he who saved me. _To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well!_ If you wish to wrap the children in your doom and call it a blanket, I cannot stop you. But however well you may lie to yourself, you cannot lie to me.”

“Is that truly what you believe, that any hope is a lie, a self-delusion? Forgive me, brother, if I cannot join you in this cynicism! It is one thing to wish to die, and quite another to assert it as fact that there is naught to live for.”

“First mercy, now hope! You are very idealistic, for a murderer. Do you remember not the Nirnaeth Aroeniad? So many battlecries for hope! And look how that hope was repaid, with death and capture and despair. If I am cynical, it is only because the world has proved cynicism correct; for surely I was not a cynic when I first stood on the ground of Middle-Earth, bright-eyed and believing that love could prevail against fire and distrust. I assert only that which I perceive to be the truth; and if you cannot accept that which I say, then so be it. I did not accept it, either, until I was forced to.”

“What would you council I do, then?”

“The silmaril is lost forever; they are of no value as hostages. I have no reason to care.”

“And yet you do. You always have.”

“I have no _right_ to. I drove their mother off a cliff. No one should be burdened with such a caretaker, even if that was what I wished.”

“But it is not. What is? You are avoiding the question.”

“What I _want_ in regards to them is unattainable. I want them to be safe and happy, at home with their parents, and I want that to be the case for them forever. We killed their mother, destroyed their home; soon Morgoth will take the continent, and _safe_ and _happy_ will be adjectives for none. If I wanted to be a good person, I would give them money and food, and send them to the Isle of Balar. If I wanted to be _merciful_ , I would make them valerian tea and then snap their throats while they slept--”

“ _Eru_.”

“I did not say I would do it. I don’t plan to. But if you wish to hear of mercy--that would be true mercy, I think. Morgoth is going to win, and soon. Who is going to stop him? The refugees at Balar? The settlements of Men or Dwarves? It cannot be Doriath or Sirion, not after we killed their people. Nargothrond and Gondolin have fallen to him already. Who is left? The Valar, who put this doom onto us long ago? Not likely, not as long as they refuse to hear even the echo of our lamentations. Us?” He laughed then, a grim laugh. “No, there is nobody left here on Middle-Earth who can stand up to him. It will not be long. We do not know if half-elves are mortal” -- _because we killed them all before they could get old_ is, for once, left unspoken-- “and if they are, perhaps they will die on their own before Morgoth gets them, or at the least their time as his thralls will be limited. If they are not mortal--yes, a painless death would be a mercy. But you love them. Be grateful, then, that I am not merciful.”

“I am not grateful you are merciless, only sad that you are hopeless.” He sighs. “You are my commander, still, and I will follow orders.”

Maedhros’ grey eyes gleamed. “Do as you wish.”

“Then I will take them in, and be kind to them, and teach them, and raise them as though they were my own. They are princes still; they deserve no less.” He said it defiantly, as though he expects Maedhros to disagree.

Maedhros did not. He was stiff, still, professional, but he looked more amused than anything. “As you will,” he said, a little softer, and then left.


End file.
